


there is no such thing as a perfect equilibrium, but i'd settle for 60%

by East_Renee



Category: Innocent Love (TV), Japanese Drama, Jdrama - Fandom
Genre: Character Study, Depression, Fix-It, Hopeful Ending, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, Internalized Homophobia, Multi, Suicide Attempt, aka the fic that I wrote bcuz the ending pissed me off so much, as did the general treatment of Subaru and Kiyoka and their character arcs, but ultimately a
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-30
Updated: 2018-04-30
Packaged: 2019-04-23 02:06:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,824
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14322168
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/East_Renee/pseuds/East_Renee
Summary: They’re broken, they know it, and there’s nothing to be done about it. Swallowing pointless seconds, they clamber for a way to move on.





	there is no such thing as a perfect equilibrium, but i'd settle for 60%

**Author's Note:**

> I started writing this fic seven years ago in 2011, because I was pissed at the ridiculousness of the last episode and at the show as a whole for not delving deeper into Subaru and Kiyoka's characters or their respective character arcs, despite their potential. 
> 
> AKA this is a fic written purely out of spite. 
> 
> For those who haven't watched Innocent Love, I'm not going to go into the whole plot. All you need to know is that: 
> 
> Subaru is a man who's in love with his best friend, the male protagonist Junya. Junya is engaged to Kiyoka, but she's in love with Subaru.
> 
> In other words it's a perfect love triangle: Subaru -> Junya -> Kiyoka -> Subaru 
> 
> Kiyoka was so distressed by this situation that she attempted suicide, but instead fell into a coma for three years, during which Junya took care of her. Kanon, the female protagonist of the show, begins working as Junya's cleaning lady and the two of them start to fall in love. Her arrival prompts Kiyoka's awakening and although Kiyoka is mute and doesn't remember everything, it's clear that she loves Subaru. Subaru ruefully takes Kiyoka off a heartbroken Junya's hands, Kiyoka regains her memories...aaand that's where this fic begins. 
> 
> My goal when writing this fic was to basically get some closure for Subaru so that he wasn't tortured by his unrequited gay love anymore, and to delve deeper into Kiyoka so that she wasn't just the "other woman who ruined everything", which is how the drama portrays her. The writing here is very emo and depressed but, in my defense, I'm just matching it to the tone of the show. If you would like to get an idea for how melodramatic the show was, you can watch the opening theme at this link (https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=WpiXyR5ZFjI). 
> 
> I hope that, regardless, you still enjoy reading this!

He should hate her now. He knew it. She knew it. It was all there in that confused, fearful glance she gave him. Her eyes open in surprise, in that slightly dumb look that had become her norm ever since she'd woken up from that stupid coma.

Oh how he wished that she'd never woken up from that coma. A hateful thought, yes, but true. And yet, he couldn't help but feel relieved as well. After all, they had been friends, very good friends, and he'd cared for her in that big brother sort of way. That is, he did, until he'd seen Junya fall in love with her. And after that well—after  _that_ their friendship had become one of bitterness and tears, a rocketing see-saw world where they wobbled and fell to find their places.

He still wasn't sure if he'd found his yet.

There had been awkward exchanges with him pretending to be happy for them, with her trying to tell him she wasn't. She didn't love Junya, she had told him, begging him to understand. She loved him. He wouldn't listen and had turned away and sank, down into the darkness of depression with curtains for company, stubbornly blocking out all sunlight from his life. He would never listen to her, because as much as he hated it Junya loved her, and he would never do anything to hurt Junya.

Because after all, he loved Junya.

He laughed at that, a cynical laugh. She, sitting on her wheelchair, started at the sound and her hands clasped tightly together. She observed his figure, which was bent over and shaking, little vibrations running along his body, and wondered if he was angry or sad or—she bent forward to get a better look of his face—crying?

Her face paled at the last option.

But his face was hidden from her and from what little she could see, there were no tears. She leaned back into her wheelchair, afraid that he'd catch her in the act. His laugh continued to roll from his mouth and she disliked the way it sounded. It was a series of harsh, painful sounds, rather like car accidents in the way that they rose, fell, and crashed in desolation and ruins. His hungover figure was a scene of destruction, of a fallen angel banned from heaven, of a person who had hoped for so much but was now disillusioned.

It was a figure of a man she knew and loved, and she wondered why she had never realized what a sad and sorry man he was.

His laughter stopped midway and she flinched at this, just as she had when the laughter had began. It was strange to think of such horrible sounds as comforting—and yet that was how she had thought of them just then. Horrible as they were, she had empathized with them, knowing that they were both mocking this horrible twisted love story that had become their life, knowing that this mocking was the only way they could stop themselves from crying.

A small smile made its way onto her lips, its ends twisted by bitterness and pain. What sad and sorry people we are, she thought. And then she looked up just in time to see him looking back, eyes wary and tired, and rather rueful too. But there was a hint of a sardonic smile at the left of his lip and she clung to that, smiling back.

Something in her smile seemed to affect him; his eyes widened for a few seconds and he stared, before pushing a bowl of soup towards her. He said, "Drink it. Afterwards, we'll take a walk outside."

 

*******

  

This day was a cheery one, with plenty of sun and no cloud nor rain. They stayed within the shade, under the trees, watching as people passed by, children with their laughter and adults with their chatter. The elderly sat on benches and played shogi. Some of them were in wheelchairs as well and Subaru suddenly wondered what it was like to lose your legs, your voice, your mind; to not be able to walk or talk, to be like a doll.

Kiyoka herself was staring at the wheelchairs in front of her, hands clutching the armrests, face crumpling into a morose expression. Then someone laughed—she didn't know who, but they laughed, and it was a happy, happy sound, so happy that she suddenly slumped into her chair. Her hands were no longer clutched, but laid flat on her lap, her body limp like the doll she was.

Or wasn't.

Where did I go wrong? It was a sudden question, one that she didn't know how to answer. She knew that this certainly wasn't what she had imagined for herself when she was young. Five years old… ten years old… even fifteen, her wish had been to be a grand career woman, with a prince in shining armor as her husband, and plenty of money so that all her worries would be about how she would spend it all instead of how she'd earn more.

At least, those were the general basics of it. Admiring coworkers, a grand bedroom, a lovely backyard with flowers, where she'd spend her afternoons gardening…

But really (and she thought this with a pain in her chest) all she'd wished for was to be happy.

But she wasn't happy right now.

So where had she gone wrong?

Her thoughts stumbled along that road for goodness knows how long; after a while even they stopped and all she was aware of was the gentle touch of the wind around her, the sun, her wheelchair, and—

—a hand on her hand.

She quickly glanced up and was surprised to see Subaru staring down at her, an unusually gentle look on his face. "Want to get some ice cream?" he asked, pointing towards the refreshment booth a few meters away.

Eyes wide, she nodded. 

"Which flavor?" he asked and she surveyed the choices before settling on vanilla. He picked coffee and the two of them relaxed again in the shade, she in her wheelchair and him on the grass.

For some time there was silence and as short as that time might've been in terms of reality—seconds, minutes, hours—for them it was a long, unending silence, a period during which the world breathed and you were suddenly reminded of how insignificant humans were in the lifetime of the world.

Then: "Let's go," Subaru said, and the silence was broken. Kiyoka nodded, somewhat glad for once that she couldn't use her voice, because she wouldn't know what to do with it now. Feelings pricked her chest like a bundle of bee stings and words were unable to rise up her swollen throat. She swallowed, feeling the urge to cry, and ate the last of her ice cream, watching the rest melt at the corners of her bowl, out of reach.

Down the road home—his home—her home?—their home?—they went. But Subaru said nothing the whole way and Kiyoka was reminded of why she hated the fact that you could only push a wheelchair from behind. Because after all, you couldn't see a person's face when they were behind you, you couldn't see anything really, therefore making conversation an awkward sport. She'd speak and he'd speak, and she'd have to guess how he felt from his too few words… Subaru was never the dramatic sort, he kept his emotions bottled up; his voice might smile, but you were never sure if he really was or if he'd decided to act for a while.

She was quite sure that he was always acting in front of her. Because.

She was insignificant.

The silence may be broken, but the feelings still pricked, and her thoughts continued.

She was insignificant. Didn't need silence and the earth to tell her that. She was and she knew it.

She just… wished she wasn't.

It's those kinds of wishes that pushed you towards death. Because as soon as you started wishing, you started thinking that death was better than anything. Better dead than insignificant, better dead than ignored, better dead than having to feel lost in meandering roads of curtains and shawls. Flighty things such as those flitted left and right and to and fro with every little breath of indecision and uncertainty. Twist they would—twist, turn, spin—and there'd be new roads, new paths, for her mind to go down on, and suddenly she'd think of possibilities that she'd never even have dreamed of before.

 _'Kill yourself. Overdose.'_ That bottle of pills had seemed to say. Alone in the bathroom, she'd heard that voice and grasped onto it as if it was God's. She'd just been to a party, her wedding party, where drinks and cheers had been given in her and Junya's names, and cakes had been decorated with her and Junya's names—her and Junya, her and Junya, Junya and Kiyoka, Junya and Kiyoka; oh, such a sweet, lovely couple, look at what a picture they make! If only they were a picture, oh if only they were, because being dead paint must be so much less painful than being alive—but she smiles and thanks, smiles and thanks (it is a thankless cycle she's created for herself), and when midway through the night, she catches Subaru's eye and he turns away…

She knows, in her gut, that that was it. That that was too much for her. That that was the end. It's somewhat comical that that little action is what pushed her overboard (she'd faced it everyday after all) but that had been the last straw.

The marble had been cold against her cheek. Down on the floor, leaning against the tiled wall, the fluorescent lights had near blinded her, and all she saw was the bottle.

_'Kill yourself. Overdose.'_

Other people did it all the time after all, didn't they? They drank pills like water and overdosed and died and were probably all the more happier for it. Why shouldn't she? It wouldn't matter, no one would care, she was insignificant—

—there'd been a knock on the door.

"Kiyoka? Are you in there?"

Her hand had wavered.

"Yes, I'm here," she'd managed to say. The patterned groove on the edge of the bottle cap ground into her fingertips.

"Ah, ok. I'm going up to my room now, so I'll see you tomorrow," Junya said, so happily and so gently and so him, that she could just see the smile on his face, the curve of his lips and his eyes as he spoke. "I love you," he continued and she'd wanted to cry.

There'd been a picture on the bottle, of a woman who was sleeping peacefully with a smile on her face. _‘Giving you the sleep you need’_ it'd said. With a fingernail (perfectly manicured for tomorrow) she scratched a scar across the woman's face.

"I love you too." Her voice echoed in the bathroom walls, making it five times louder than it should be and she shivered. "Sweet dreams."

"Sweet dreams!" he'd replied and she heard his footsteps as he walked away.

She'd looked at the bottle again.

_'Kill yourself. Overdose.'_

No, no, no, no, no. This wasn't just about her anymore. Junya loved her, but for some horrible reason in the universe, she didn't love him back. He didn't deserve that. He deserved someone who loved him, who'd sing happily as she cooked him breakfast, and who'd treasure everything about him. If they got married… oh she'd definitely mess up and hurt him somehow.

 _'And you're not going to hurt him by dying?'_ the bottle seemed to speak, the rattling pills inside resembling the quickening beats of drums, the stuttering of a heart.

It's better this way, she thought, as she filled up a glass with warm water. This way—well we're not even married, so he can have a new start. A clean start. Subaru too, he wouldn't have me bothering him anymore.

The bed had been soft. She'd laid her head down on the pillow for a few seconds. 1…2…

She'd counted out a few pills (1…2…) and then had dumped the rest out on the bedsheets.

She'd swallowed one first, then two, then three, then a handful.

She was supposed to have died.

Back in the house, she screamed silently. Palms against her mouth, she rocked back and forth. Why didn't she die? Why did things always have to go wrong?

Junya was supposed to have a clean start—not spend three years looking after her comatose body! And Subaru too was supposed to be free of her, instead of having to look after her now.

She was such a burden.

 

The sun shined outside and she felt its lingering warmth.

 

She should've _died._

 

********

 

The coffee burned his throat as he choked.

"You're getting married?" he managed to say after a series of coughs and he's somewhat proud that his tone of voice was more surprised than panicked.

"Yes!" Junya said. He smiled widely before catching himself and blushed, stirring his coffee to some erratic rhythm that probably echoed his own beating heart. 

Subaru's heart, on the other hand, sang a tune more akin to that of a bassoon played by someone who had a bad case of tuberculosis.

"With Kanon, right?" Subaru said, smiling. He mentally squashed a pillow on said bassoon and went on to continue with his lies, "I'm happy for you, really. When is it?"

The time and place were given, noted down in his cell phone. Promises were given: he will come, he will come, he said. Pleasant talk was given, of the cake, of the dress, of the music, and the dance. All the while, Subaru drank coffee and wished it were vodka instead.

Only in the last few minutes did the important question come up.

"Would you be fine if Kiyoka came?" Subaru asked. There were less people in the cafe, the music thus sounded louder, and he found himself humming along to the crooning trumpet, twirling around the glittering steps of the piano.

Junya donned that expression—that desperate anxious expression, so much like a sad puppy. So desperate to not hurt anyone, without ever thinking of the possible consequences brought onto himself. Well, Subaru thought, he was probably romanticizing Junya a bit. Junya could be rather selfish, when the time came. But those were rare times, rare times.

The sky outside was darker; a shadow covered parts of Junya's face. Somehow it emphasized the creases on his forehead, the hollows in his cheeks. "I don't know Subaru," he said, "I can get past it. I have Kanon and she has me. But I don't—does Kiyoka even want to come?" He suddenly looked up and Subaru's breath caught in his throat.Junya's eyes… they were bright, so bright, and it made him think—

—about how once upon a time they had been students, the three of them. They had been young, they had been reckless, they had been unrequitedly in love with each other, but Junya hadn't known that. He hadn't, still didn't now, but even he couldn't get a happy ending, because Kiyoka had nearly ended herself. He had found her unconscious and unmoving on the morning of their wedding day, and on that morning in the hospital, his eyes had been bright too.

"If Kiyoka wants to come, then she can come,” Junya said with an air of finality, " I still—I still love her. Not in the same way, but—she can come."

Junya's eyes were dark and bright (if that even made sense) and it wasn't until someone dropped their spoon that Subaru started breathing again.

"Yeah I'll—I'll tell her that," he said, trying to swallow but failing. Scratching the edge of his eye, he laughed (a tad bit weakly but Junya wouldn't notice, right?), "If you tell her it's fine Junya then she'll come."

"Why?"

He blinked and looked. Junya looked back at him; the shadows had fallen further and now his expression was becoming haggard. Subaru hurriedly grabbed some words, felt them trip and fall over his tongue, "Be—because she loves you—" 

"—She doesn't." It was a short, simple sentence and Subaru wanted to smash it to pieces.

He remembered Kiyoka sitting destitute, looking out of the window as if looking for something to kill her and a cold hand gripped his stomach. He said, "You just said you love her, but not in the same way. It's the same for her. She loved you, Junya, she did, just not in the same way." 

"I know, I know." Junya set his head in his hands and his words were a pitiful, beautiful whine. "Subaru?" 

"Yeah?"

Subaru breathed.

"You never knew right?" 

He breathed and the air was too warm. They'd been here too long. 

"I never knew."

He felt like crying.

 

********

 

There are many words he's always wanted to say. Emotions that clutched him by the heart, things that'd caught his fancy, times when he went about his day and something made him think of Junya (he always thought of Junya, always). And they're all cluttered together in a pile, but he could never get any of them out; it was like one of those arcade games, where there's a claw and a bunch of plushies, and you tried to maneuver the claw to get one of the plushies out, but you couldn't. And you tried and tried, over and over again and it never worked. Things went wrong (the machine broke, the claw got stuck, the plushy—for some reason—was too big to actually drop down the hole) and soon you had no money and ended up in a rage, kicking and shouting at the horrible contraption until you were left tired and empty.

And foolish because why were you doing this, why did you have to do this, why was this so necessary? 

But it was, it was, you needed it like air, so you tried and tried again, and you always failed. 

That was his life in a nutshell and Subaru wondered if this was his cue to give up now.

It was rather pathetic that in all these years spent loving Junya, he'd never been able to tell him he loved him.At least Kiyoka had told him, had tried her best to get them out of this mess, even though the result hadn't been what she'd desired. He was the true coward, he was.

It was even more pathetic (and truly, truly despicable) that he'd never told Junya that he knew. That he knew the reason Kiyoka tried to kill herself was because she loved him.

That he knew that Kiyoka loved him and not Junya, long before she had tried to kill herself.

But that was how it was; the secret was locked within an especially tricky plushy, locked by the expression of betrayal that would be found on Junya's face if it ever got out.

The walk back home was cold and the streetlights shined, their lights fake, cheap, and empty. He walked under the balconies and close to the walls, where the shadows covered his feet, and wondered if he could melt away.

The first time he'd met Junya—oh he'll never forget that. They'd sat next to each other during a lecture and he'd asked nervously for a pen. Subaru had stared, wondering who wouldn't bring a pen to a college lecture in the first week of classes—and Junya had smiled. Laughed. Whispered that he'd overslept and forgotten his pens on his desk. And the lighting wasn't even good in that room, but it was like a sun was beaming, spreading warmth and cheer, and Subaru knew—from then—

—he was in love and it was the awkward sort, because what was he supposed to do?

He'd never been in love before, hadn't known how disastrously vile it could be, and he was drowning, so badly, in vindictive thoughts and punches to the heart. 

Because he was a man and Junya was a man and there was no chance, no chance.

He still should've told him. He grasped the wall and relished the pain of the scrape, grasped it and chanted: Coward, coward, coward, coward.

Roughly shoving the door open, he stumbled into his apartment and went to find Kiyoka.

She was still awake. She was lying in bed, but her eyes were open and they stared at Subaru.

For a second, he thought that she'd fallen into a coma again.

"Kiyoka—" he choked and that one word, her name, hung broken and still in the air.

Broken and still, just as she was right now. 

In bed, she stared.

Something in those eyes, big, black, and lost; dark, empty, and dead; broke something in him and he wondered whether 'breaking' was a contagious disease. Whether it was like dominoes: Someone fell and they fell on someone else, and that person fell on another someone else, and so on and so forth, because no one was ever fully disconnected from the people around them. Subaru never lied to himself that he was the exception.

"Kiyoka," he said—and stopped again. He tried again, he rehearsed the words in his head, but as he did so, he broke even further—and collapsed. 

And in that crumbling state: head hurting, eyes teary, stomach full of coffee that should've been vodka, heart wheezing a song out of tune, feet aching and bleeding, because he'd been looking for a place to fix himself for too long… 

"Kiyoka, Junya's getting married." 

He said that in a raspy voice and dug his face into the bedcovers, wishing now that he could burn inside out from all the pain that'd accumulated over the years and then melt into nothingness.

And he almost did.

But a coolness took him by his cheeks and tilted his face upwards, and Subaru found himself staring at Kiyoka's eyes once more.

And they were different. They were no longer lost, but knowing.

She brought out her wrists and turned them over to show him the scattered red dashes that were laid out unevenly down her forearms. They were in roughly two columns, with the right dashes leaning to the right and the left to the left, so that they looked like footprints if feet were lines. His fingers followed those footsteps, they pressed lightly, for inside he still could not believe them to be real. 

But they were! The dried blood scraped against his fingertips and inside he screamed at himself, because what had she done, what had he driven her to do—oh Kiyoka—oh!

A trembling hand—his—grasped the craft knife that laid on the bedstead. Coppery rust streaked the blade.

And just like that, inside him the claw picked up a plushy and dropped it down the hole. 

"K—kiyoka," he said, phlegm and tears clogging up his throat, "I'm so, so, sorry."

His eyes blinked more tears and he struggled to control his heaving sobs, but he failed, utterly failed, and he was forced to cling onto her as the waves of anguish rolled through his body.

All along, what he needed to say the most, what he so despicably kept to himself, a plushy that had been buried for so long that mold and cobwebs had started to grow onto it…

He had dug it deep, deep down. Did everything he could to stop thinking about it, even to the point of lying to himself, of thinking he had no heart.

That was the only way he could forget about it. Because how else could he ever believe that he’d felt relief at hearing about Kiyoka’s near suicide and her comatose state? And that when, in the most slimmest of chances, she'd woken up, he resented her for it?

No. When he looked upon her still, pale face on that fateful day, he had felt dead. Dead. Because it was only in that moment that he'd understood what he'd done.

The dear girl who would banter with him energetically on mornings right before class, who would tease him about his bed head with a cheeky smile on her face, who would surprise him with Starbucks coupons during finals week, who would chide him about his scruffiness, his lack of self-care, going so far as to brandishing him with a mirror to show him how horrible he looked—was gone.

The woman who had had dreams; dreams that her marketing and business majors would lead her career to success; dreams of a three story house with two bedrooms and balconies and a garden; dreams of taking future walks with her husband on the Yokohama Bay with the night lights speckling their faces with colour… that woman- was now gone.

He'd destroyed her—or at least, he'd played a part in her destruction. Then and now: He sniffed loudly, realized that his fingertips were now wet as well, and that the bedsheets under his face were now a mess. Struggling to clear his throat, he took Kiyoka's hands into his own.

Kiyoka—he tried to say, but once again, his voice failed him. He squeezed his eyes shut in frustration. Why, why did he always fail?

Fingers brushed over his eyes and he opened them slightly to see Kiyoka's surprised face, glowing as if beholding something delightful but oh so fragile.

A small incredulous smile grew from her lips and she patted his face gently, laying it down on her lap.

And in the evening light, light made of the moon and the street lamps, artificial light, white light, light devoid of warmth, Subaru cried and Kiyoka ran her hands in his hair in circles, like revolutions of the moon, and for the first time—

—they found their places in the world.

 

********

  

But they lost them again in the morning.

Feelings were often like that. Certain thoughts came with the moon and the dark sky, and were gone when the sun rose. In the sunlight your place in life seemed clearer… and bleaker. Last night, you deluded yourself into thinking that the end of the day meant the end of something in you—not so, not so, not true, not true. For the day might have ended, but you, you will go on for a million more days over. And feelings do not disappear that easily. 

So when Kiyoka woke up, the first thing she felt was not the content that had warmed her heart as she fell asleep—but a very familiar sense of worry. Her eyes darted around. The sun was overhead. The clock read 9:45. She pinched herself; she wasn't dreaming. She was still alive.

"Kiyoka?" she heard.

She turned to see Subaru sitting across the room, on the floor, eyes listlessly looking out the window, his cellphone dangling from his fingertips. The sun shone upon him… as it did so on dull, warped, metal in the scrap heap.

"Good morning," he said.

Good morning, she silently, automatically, replied, but she couldn't speak, she could only look in pure confusion, her eyes fixed upon the sun on his hair. Last night: She had held him by the cheeks, taken a knife, and cut her arms—no wrong order, wrong order. She had cut her arms, failed to cut any deeper, and then had sat in bed steeping in the misery of her failure. She'd waited for Subaru's return, watching as cars occasionally drove past. The whirring of their engines vibrated in the air; it was almost as if their energy, their speed was held and contained within the wind, as if by breathing she could briefly hold that speed within her lungs. With that thought, she’d breathed in….and out…. and in…. and out…and…

… In the intervals between, she felt stuck in time, the irregular beats of her heart unable to match the regular ticks of the clock—Subaru came home, she could tell immediately that he was acting strangely—

Her breath stilled.

The coffee cup on the table next to her was still half-full. She picked it up, rolled it between her hands. She didn't remember drinking from it last night.

Last night. She repeated in her head, almost listlessly. Last night—she could tell immediately that he was acting strangely, but could do nothing but watch as he slowly unraveled before her eyes. “Kiyoka,” he’d said, and oh did that pitiful tone remind her of their college days when he’d whine to her about finals, “Junya’s getting married.”

And then? He’d flung himself into the bedcovers and buried his face into them as if he’d wanted to drown. His hands had clenched so tightly and shone so palely in the moonlight; the straining muscles in his back looked as if they were about to snap apart and for a second Kiyoka had thought, yes please do, because Subaru was an explosion waiting to happen; no one should ever have reason to hold themselves with such tension and despair.

Such self-destructive despair. Kiyoka looked and saw within Subaru an image of herself clawing at a bottle of pills. Oh, she thought—like the idiot she was. Oh. Why hadn’t she realized it sooner?

Of course Subaru loved Junya.

Of course.

Tears pricked at the corners of her eyes and she wasn't sure if it was out of exhaustion or relief.

“You idiot,” she said—and it came out as a gasp, a whisper. The first words she’d spoken in years.

But it was too soft for Subaru to hear and he continued to look away from her. No, she thought, don’t go. Don’t wander somewhere I can’t reach you. Not when it seems like I can finally understand you. 

She tried speaking again, but the words would not come out. Agitated, she planted the coffee cup back onto the table with a loud 'thunk'. An impulsive action, but it did its job: Subaru looked back at her. 

“Are you hungry?” he asked. She shook her head. “Me neither.” And Kiyoka saw him starting to turn away again. No, she thought, and desperately dropped the coffee cup down again, this time with an even louder 'thunk'. Once his eyes were back on her, she pointed to the calendar on the wall. 

 _When?—_ she tried to ask, her hand shaking in the air— _When is he getting married?_

Subaru stilled. Then he breathed, moved again, fingers tapping on his phone. “The second friday next month," he said.

He went back to his phone, fingers tapping nonsensically, a video playing on loop, and Kiyoka watched. And wondered. 

Why she had never seen…

It was sheer idiocy, she thought. Pure blindness. All this time and I never saw, I never looked, I never knew— 

Never saw the way Subaru both brightened and darkened around Junya—the way he constantly paid attention to him, the way he would match his steps to his…

It was clear from the beginning, from that very day Subaru had come to her laughing about something he'd heard from this guy he'd met in class. His face had been alight with a giddiness that was usual for him, with a bashfulness that wasn't. And then there was _that_ day—

—her hand rose immediately to cover her mouth as she gasped. 

_"Subaru," she said, heart beating fast. They were on their way home from class and Kiyoka had decided that this was it; this would be the day she would confess. "I have something to tell you."_

_"Hm? What?" Subaru said, slowing down to look at her._

_Blood was roaring in her head. She was sure she was blushing all over, but it was now or never. "I like you, Subaru," she said, or at least, she think she said. "I always have." Then she shakily inhaled and looked down at the floor, because she couldn't bear seeing his reaction._

_There was a long silence, but Kiyoka didn't know if it was actually a long silence or if that was just her perception of time turning upside down._

_"Eh—really?" she heard him say faintly._

_"Yes, really," she said. She looked up and her heart dropped; his face was pale and his eyes were darting back and forth in a kind of panic._

_He stuttered, "I—I'm sorry, Kiyoka, but—I can't—"_

_"It's fine!" she said hurriedly, "I just wanted to tell you—"_

_"—No it's—" he paused, chest heaving. Kiyoka had never seen him look so burdened; she instantly regretted confessing at all._

_"Subaru, I'm really—" she was about to say the word 'fine' when Subaru suddenly bulldozed forward and blurted out:_

_"Junya likes you, did you know?"_

_She was completely taken aback. "What..."_

_"Junya likes you, it's obvious with the way he looks at you," Subaru said and his voice was taking on an unsteady, almost hysterical quality that Kiyoka empathized with because she had **no** idea what was going on, no idea at all, "I think the two of you would be good together, Kiyoka. I think you should give him a chance. Forget about me, you deserve better." _

What had she done then? Oh yes, she'd ran off, unable to deal with what Subaru was saying. In all of her mental simulations of how her confession would be received, none had been even remotely similar to this nonsensical reality. She hadn't slept that night either, mind too busy wondering why Subaru had said what he did, in the way that he did. The more delusional part of her had dreamed up a fantasy where Subaru felt inferior to Junya, and that that was why he was pushing her towards him instead of claiming her for himself. The more sensible and realistic part of her however, remembered the look on his face, and tossed that dream aside. The insecure, negative, caustic part of her prodded at her wounds. He hates you, it told her, he can't stand the thought of even dating you. 

Now, four years later, she finally understood. You fool, she thought, you _utter_ fool. 

How had she never seen how absolutely _vital_ Junya was to Subaru?

This is ridiculous, she thought. Ridiculous.

But Subaru had never told Junya, had he? She thought and she knew, because she knew Subaru.

Before she even opened her mouth, Subaru already protested. "I won't tell him," he said, and as he spoke, Kiyoka saw him crawling into himself even further, the fibers of his very being curling up into a mass of black untouchable by the sun.

That sight, so painful to see, pushed the words out of her throat. “But you must," she croaked, and Subaru’s head whipped around in shock of hearing her speak, “To move on, you must.”

Subaru stared down at her, an expression of awe frozen on his face, before he slowly thawed, and the despair shone through again. A laugh, a sad keening sound, a whine of the helpless, rang out from him, "Move where? To you? It's impossible, I can't move.”

"You can," she said. Hands clasped together, she was pleading with him, with God, with anyone who would listen. "I believe that you can." 

Even from the bed, Kiyoka could see the tear sliding down Subaru's face, "I don't want to tell him," he sobbed and her heart cried along with him. It cried for her to walk over to him and yet she couldn't.

At the end of a TV episode, there is always a “To Be Continued”. If their life was a melodrama, she could picture the word appearing at the bottom right corner of the screen, telling the audience to wait for the next episode.

But they couldn't wait.

They couldn't move.

Who could say that their lives would reach a satisfying culmination?

"How do I live," Subaru choked, "without Junya?"

To this, Kiyoka has no answer but—

“I lived without you,” she whispers.

Alone in the dark for years, mind half-asleep, only conscious of the sound of machines beeping and of Junya's voice, she had lived without Subaru. Perhaps it was unfair to compare that to Subaru’s predicament, but Kiyoka remembers the loneliness of her coma and her heart aches as emptiness gnaws at her.

She motions for Subaru to come forward and he does, shuffling his feet until he is before her. Cradling Subaru’s face in her hands, she smooths his hair. “I love you,” she whispers, “And I’ll be there for you, wherever you go. It'll get better."

"What stupid things are you saying?” Subaru snaps half-heartedly, “Live for yourself, first.”

But here, Kiyoka was steadfast. These were baby steps—she’d progressed from trying to die, to trying to live and making sure that Subaru could live happily. Where they could go from here was up to life to decide.

For they are children without words, without directions, without places.

There is a tap and then the rain starts to come down.

"I have to go to work," Subaru says.

And he leaves. Leaving Kiyoka to stare at the drops pouring upon the window.

"That's right," she murmurs, "It's Monday."

 

********

 

Four days later on a Friday, she meets Kanon.

It is an inauspicious day. She'd woken up to the dawn with the cuts on her arms stinging and the wind blowing so hard that the laundry on the balcony was flapping around wildly.

Alarmed, she'd sat up, but then saw that Subaru was already there, taking it all back inside. 

"It's fine," he’d said, "I got all of it, I think.”

Inside, they’d hung the laundry again—well he’d hung them. She’d handed them to him. Dampened cloth spun slowly from side to side in the humid air, in its many colors and soothing smells of soap.

It was a slow day.

Subaru had went to work. As always she’d stayed in. She sat beside the window, sometimes pondering over the gradual movement of the clouds, sometimes reading the news. Somewhere in the process, she’d begun looking through Subaru's old collection of photographs again. It was a form of torture, the most innocent, the most laughable, the most cruel. Fingertips smoothed over their faces—she had a large smile in this one, and she racked her brain to remember what had happened. There was a stack of papers in her hand, a briefcase in the other; she was standing in front of a restaurant with Subaru next to her, enjoying shaved ice in the sun. He had a wry smile on his face.

Ah, that's right.

That was the day she'd learned that she'd been accepted for a certain position at her dream firm. The email had come; she'd ran off immediately to tell Subaru and Junya. Then they'd gone to celebrate, she'd been ecstatic— 

—the doorbell rang. 

It was Kanon. 

The thing was, she did know Kanon. Not just from the bits and pieces she’d seen of her after she’d woken up—she remembered Kanon taking care of her in the midst of her coma. She remembered her hesitant but kind voice, her soft strokes with the washcloth, the humming she'd sometimes do in the afternoons…

It was probably Kanon who had woken her up. Because she was an anomaly. She was different, she was someone who Kiyoka didn't know; the change had startled her unconscious and had triggered her awakening.

And it was Kanon who'd saved Junya from her, from having to waste himself away taking care of her.

"Kiyoka-san!" Kanon said with wide eyes and quick, deep, bows, "I apologize, I didn't mean to bother you!"

Kiyoka shook her head and tried to form a genuine smile on her face. She rolled out of the doorway and into the living room, hoping that Kanon would understand and follow her.

She did.

"Is Subaru-san inside?" she asked. She stopped at the bookshelf and Kiyoka sat up in her wheelchair to see what had caught her attention.

It was another photograph. Brightly colored balloons stood out against the tall pines and darkening sky. Subaru was balancing on the fence of a stone bridge, while Kiyoka and Junya watched him, laughing. The two of them had their arms around each other; each of them held a balloon in their hands.

Kiyoka dragged her eyes away and looked to Kanon, who merely smiled at her, somewhat sadly.

"Has Subaru-san told you about our wedding?" she asked, voice soft, careful. It held the same intent as her hands did when she'd nursed her—careful not to rub too hard, careful not to hurt. 

Careful not to dig too deep and find something that was better left in the dirt. 

Kiyoka mentally shook herself. Stop it, she thought. Looking up at Kanon's gentle face, she nodded and again tried to smile.

Kanon smiled back. "Kiyoka-san. I really hope that we can have a good relationship between us," she said.

 _Me too,_ Kiyoka tried to reply, but the sounds muffled in her throat. Mute once more, Kiyoka looked around the room, wondering how to communicate her intent. She wheeled herself back to her room and looked among the piles of photos she had been looking at. 

This one, she decided. Glancing at it for one last time in the calm sunlight, she went to the living room and handed it to Kanon. 

She heard a deep intake of breath. 

"This—“ Kanon whispered in an almost reverent awe as her fingers gently held the edges of the photograph. Sitting down, Kiyoka couldn't see it, but she knew what Kanon saw: A 3/4 view of Junya as he played the grand piano in the church, sunlight hitting him just so so that his gentle, smiling face glowed, as if he truly had the blessing of a benevolent God. Kiyoka had taken the photo years ago and had given it to Subaru for safekeeping—at the time, Subaru had accepted it with a look she couldn't discern, but now she could. 

It was love. The same kind of love that shone from Kanon's face now. 

Kiyoka was satisfied. 

Kanon swallowed heavily and then looked back to her. "Thank you Kiyoka-san,” she said, "Thank you so much."

Kiyoka held out a hand to her, silently requesting a handshake. Without hesitation, Kanon grasped it and when they made eye contact, her gaze was still firm.

"I will, Kiyoka-san." she said, answering a question Kiyoka hadn't even known that she'd asked, "I will."

When Kanon left, she left with a kiss on the cheek and a photograph, and maybe a sliver of Kiyoka's already hole-ridden heart. She followed the quickly departing sun and its light was just enough to display her kind smile. Kiyoka watched from the door and thought: 

Thank god, Junya will have that light in his life.

 

********

 

When Subaru came back that evening, she was waiting for him. Nestled in bed, she watched the flickering lights outside, listened for the passing cars, senses grabbing onto any sign of movement, of life; her body hungered for the same. Let me move, she thought, let me shout, let me run, let me jump, let me cry. Others can move, why can’t I? If I am but a wind-up toy, then wind me up; plug me into the sockets. Turn the switch, push the button, make me function at 100%—no 110%! Make me be the best that I can be, stronger, smarter, kinder, better, so that I can make up for all the mistakes I’ve made and all the hurt I’ve caused. Don’t let me make any more mistakes from hereon, because I don’t think I can bear it if I hurt someone again.

The sound of the door opening breaks her train of thought. With heavy, plodding footsteps, Subaru walks up to the bed and plops down beside her. The lights outside flash across his face, but they fail to give him life as well.

"Kanon came today," she rasps and she feels him stiffen.

"For what?"

"To invite me to their wedding."

"And what'd you say?" 

"I couldn't say anything. But I tried to give her my congratulations.”

He's shivering. She takes his hands into hers and pulls him closer so that their faces are side by side.

"Kiyoka..." he whispers.

Placing a finger on his lips, she shushes him and asks, "Do you accept me?" 

"What?" he says, wrinkling his forehead in confusion.

"I want to stay with you. I want to be by your side. Do you accept me?"

He blinks; the lights blink too. Outside, they stutter as they run across his face. 

"I'm not doing this solely out of love,” she says, "I don't know what to do. I just know that we have to move forward, however we can. Even one small, measly step is better than nothing. And I'd rather try to do that together with you, and have the peace of mind of knowing that you're ok. Please, Subaru. Let me stay with you." 

The words pour out of her in a deluge; her mouth, rusty with disuse, struggles with all the words, but somehow manages. She is lightheaded—which way is up? Which way is down? She doesn't know; she can only fixate upon Subaru's face, pale and scared, aching for life but shying away from it all the same. For all these years, she has always seen him as a boy with too much swagger for it to be real, but now it is time for her to dismiss at least some of her romanticizing; he is a man, worn down by a love that he cannot bear to bear; he strikes out with cold, bitter anger and indifference and that has hurt her; he has been brooding over this for too long and so has she, and it's time that they try to put a stop to this. 

And in the end, he'll be fine. She has to believe that. Subaru will be fine. Even without her, he will be fine. 

But…

"Kiyoka, you idiot," he says, eyes crinkling in a kind of pained happiness, "I should be the one asking you to let me stay." 

"But this is your house," she says, nonplussed. 

He laughs softly, "That's not what I mean. After all the pain I caused you—" 

"—I caused it too—" 

"—I wouldn't blame you if a part of you hated me." 

She holds her breath then slowly releases it; steeling herself, she brings a hand to his cheek. "I don't," she says, "I never could. But I wouldn't blame you if a part of _you_ hated _me_. Especially after I hurt Junya." 

Subaru shakes his head, his hair shifting on the pillow, light hitting every strand from a slightly different angle. A thought hits her suddenly—( _I will never see him like this again_ )—"I hurt him too," he murmurs, and then curls his arm around her waist. "Kiyoka," he says, "Let's do it. Let's stay together." 

She is unsure if this is real, it is too good to be true, and nighttime has been deceptive to her before, but she is unwilling to question such goodness.  _Be brave_ , a part of her thinks, and she hugs Subaru tightly and he hugs her back. "Yes," she whispers. 

They stay like that for some time, silent and still, measuring time with the in-and-out of their breaths, their undulating chests, the lights dashing across their skin, the changing temperature of their blood. 

"Have you ever," whispers someone (one of them, which one, who?), "wanted to go to Paris?" 

"Yes," the other answers faintly, words dissipating into the dark, “let's go." 

 

********

 

But before Paris, there is the Wedding. And before the Wedding, there is what is, without a doubt, the most nerve-wracking moment of Subaru’s life. Standing in the hall as Junya’s best man, Subaru waits for Junya to arrive and tries hard not to throw up. He has been avoiding this for the past six years, even as the urge to do so clawed at him simultaneously, with the viciousness of a man desperate to not drown. But now he must, as the saying goes, _walk the plank_ and all he can see are the tempestuous waters below, the sharks circling near. 

“Subaru!” comes a familiar shout, and Junya comes, walking down the hall, all too soon. All Subaru wants to do is run, so he focuses hard on standing still. Otherwise, his body is completely on autopilot: his hand waves and there’s a smile on his face, and he just hopes it doesn’t look too forced.

“Yo!” he says, “and here I was wondering if you were going to be late to your own wedding.”

Junya laughs, “As if I could do that!”

“Are you nervous?” Subaru asks with a grin, as his own heart thuds in his ears. 

“Of course I am,” Junya says and he ruffles his hair as if to illustrate the point further. With a tremulous smile, he chuckles a bit and says, “I’m still not sure whether I can make her happy. It’s all such a blur you know—everything’s happening so fast! I can’t believe I even have her in my life… What if I mess up again?” 

 _Again?_ “Junya… I’ve told you already that what Kiyoka did was not your fault.”

“Yes it was, Subaru,” Junya says and Subaru suddenly sees that everything is  _not_ alright. Junya is sweating and when Subaru grabs his hand, it is cold and clammy to the touch. “I didn’t see it. I was standing right next to her, and I didn’t see how unhappy she was. What if something like that happens again?” 

“It won’t," Subaru says, as heartfelt and as sure as he can, gripping Junya’s hand tightly, "Kanon isn’t Kiyoka. She loves you and you love her, equally. You will make her happy, just as happy as she makes you.”

“How can you be so sure?” asks his friend, the man he loves, with such panic in his voice; panic that comes from your previous fiancee attempting suicide the night before your wedding, for a reason that you still don't quite understand, a reason  _he_ knows. 

And just like that, it comes out.

“Because you make me happy,” Subaru says, and with a start he realizes that it’s true. Even with all the heartache and anguish that came with unrequited love, even with all the fear and shame that came from it being an unrequited love on another man, loving Junya had made him happy. Every smile Junya had ever given him, every laugh, every touch, every truth, filled his entire being with a warmth that made up for the suffering. From the moment Junya had asked him for a pen and entered his life, Subaru had been entranced by this shining sun of a man, and he couldn’t bring himself to regret it.

“I love you Junya,” he says, “I’ve loved you ever since I met you, ever since college. I love everything about you and I’m so glad I’m friends with you, even though I understand if you don’t want to be friends with me after hearing this.” With mortification, he realizes that his eyes are welling with tears, but he pushes on hurriedly, “I’m sorry for keeping it from you. I didn’t know how to tell you and I didn’t want to ruin our friendship. But you should know. I love you and—you make me so happy, so of course it’s the same for Kanon. You have nothing to worry about. Nothing at all.”

At the beginning of this babbled confession, Junya had been staring at Subaru confusedly, but now he had a thoroughly gobsmacked expression on his face. “E-e-e-e-eh??” he says and then grabs onto his shoulders. “Subaru, you love me?” he asks, bewilderingly.

“Yes,” Subaru says, faintly. 

“You don’t mean as a brother or as a friend, do you?”

“No, I don’t," he says, “I love you in the same way Kanon does. In the way you wanted Kiyoka to.”

At that, Junya lets go of Subaru’s shoulders and clasps his hands, sagging against the wall until he’s sitting on the floor. Subaru sits down beside him. Staring off into the distance, Junya says, “I don't know what to say."

"You don't have to say anything." 

"Of course I do." With one hand on his forehead, Junya asks, "How am I always so blind?”

“I didn’t exactly make it obvious,” Subaru responds with some snark, aiming for levity, but Junya shakes his head.

“You’ve always been there for me, Subaru,” he says, “Always. Whenever I needed something, anything, you were there to help me. Yet here I was, blind to your feelings.” Then he looks at Subaru, straight in the eye, and Subaru almost can’t handle it, the light and the sincerity and that pain; pain, because Junya can’t bear the thought that he’d hurt him, even unintentionally.  “Thank you, Subaru," Junya says softly, "Thank you for loving me.” 

“I—“ Subaru stops himself as he feels tears run down his cheeks, “You don’t have to thank me for something like that, you idiot.”

“Of course I do,” says Junya and his eyes are teary too, “you’re my best friend, the most precious friend I have.”

Junya holds him as he cries and later, after the wedding ceremony is over, after the vows have been said and the rings have been exchanged, he hugs him fiercely. Subaru tries to hug him just as fiercely back, but he has to admit that his whole body’s feeling a bit weak.

Kiyoka pats him on the arm, “How are you feeling?” she asks.

He isn’t sure how to answer. How _is_ he feeling? But as he glances over to Junya, who’s standing with Kanon and looking at her in a truly besotted fashion, the happiest he’s been in years, he says, “Light. Like I can move again.” 

“Good,” says Kiyoka, “Then shall we go to Paris?”

He looks down at her and smiles, “Ready when you are,” he says.

And for once, he’s telling the truth.

 

********

 

There is a footnote to this ending of course, in the form of Kiyoka's first words to Junya in three years. As the wedding begins to die down, guests trickle out, plates of food are collected, the staff gets ready to clean, and Kiyoka wheels herself over to where Junya is standing, near the fountain. Kanon is with him, but when she sees her, she whispers something into Junya's ear, and then walks away. With a turn, Junya sees her. His normally expressive face is expressionless. 

"Kiyoka," he says. 

She smiles, "Congratulations, Junya."

His eyes widen upon hearing her voice. "You—" 

"—Are you happy?" she asks, "I hope you are. You deserve happiness more than anyone else I know." A cool wind blows against her cheeks; the sun is beginning to go down, and the sky is a myriad of oranges and purples that somehow reflect upon the pale pinkish stone of the fountain and of the pavilion under their feet. Despite there being little similarity, she is reminded of the feeling of cool, smooth marble under her cheek as she thought of death. "I'm sorry, Junya," she chokes out and Junya, poor man, is just staring at her, completely taken aback. "I'm sorry I wasn't honest with you, I'm sorry I couldn't—that we couldn't have this." 

To her distaste, she is crying. She wipes her eyes and is only slightly aware that Junya is crouching down—oh and now he's wiping her tears for her, "First Subaru, now you," he says, shaking his head in bemusement. "I know that people cry a lot at weddings but wow," and then he laughs. It's 2/10 hysterical and 4/10 disbelief and 4/10 relief, and Kiyoka hears it and she deflates like a balloon, all the tension that was holding her up, gone. "Kiyoka," he says, "You don't have to apologize—no, I'm serious, you really don't. I had a feeling something was wrong while we were engaged, but I never said anything because I was afraid of disturbing what we had—but what we had was never really right for us, was it?" 

"No," she whispers, "it wasn't. But," and she looks up, "that doesn't mean that there weren't good things about it." 

He smiles. “Of course not.” 

And then the two of them look down at their now-clasped hands and there is something like a current of understanding—they let go of each other at the same time and Junya stands up. Kiyoka has to tilt her head further back to look him in the eyes, "Be happy, Junya," she says, "Always." 

He smiles, again, and oh!—how is it that every time he smiles she feels a twinge of pain in her heart? "I'll try," he says, "I'll try but—I think it's impossible to always be happy. It's like a balance: to experience happiness you must also experience sadness." 

It's a statement so unlike him that she takes a few seconds to reply. "Perhaps. But at least aim for being happy 80% of the time." 

"80%?" Junya grins, "Okay, but only if you aim for the same."

"80% is too high for me right now, but I'll try for 60%."

"Try for 80!" he insists.  

"No, 60 is fine!" 

"80!"

At that, they burst out laughing. It's a novel sensation and Kiyoka clings onto it, trying to store the memory for a future "sad day". 

"I love you Junya," she says and Junya abruptly stops laughing and instead looks at her like a deer caught in headlights. She can't help but chuckle, "Please take care of yourself." 

"...I will," he says, a bit unsteadily, "I will." Then he shakes himself, grins a wobbly grin, and gently taps his wineglass against her forehead. "I love you too," he whispers. 

And as the sun sets, Kiyoka and Subaru leave, side by side. They are silent during the journey back, for which Kiyoka is grateful; her throat hurts and she doubts she could speak steadily now. Blinking back stray tears she watches the buildings pass by in blurs and afterimages. By the time they reach home, it is truly night. There is no one around to see them bathe, shower, and get into bed; both of them fall asleep as soon as their heads hit the pillows. In the morning, they will wake up, cook and eat breakfast, and start planning for Paris. Subaru will take time off from work to make it a truly lavish two-week vacation. And at the airport, they will squeeze each other's hands, silently saying  _I'm glad you're here with me._

Things won't go that smoothly, of course. But when you have another hand to hold, a couple falls aren't as perilous as they seem. 

And even falling is better than standing still. 

**End Footnote.**


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